


Unofficial Royalty Stiles Stilinski

by vedaine



Series: Unofficial Stiles Stilinski [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - No Werewolves, Drag Queens, Established Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Good Peter Hale, High School Student Derek, M/M, Stiles Stilinski Has Low Self-Esteem
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-08
Updated: 2019-02-08
Packaged: 2019-10-24 12:20:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17704169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vedaine/pseuds/vedaine
Summary: In which Derek thinks Stiles is perfect as he is, Stiles thinks he’s not good enough for Derek, and Peter’s drag queen friends help Stiles with his self-esteem.





	Unofficial Royalty Stiles Stilinski

“You know, when you asked me to come over to study, I didn’t think you actually meant studying,” Stiles grumbled.

“What else do you think I could have meant?” Derek asked. “We have midterms this week.” It was the Sunday before the last week of school before spring break, and the teens both had several exams and essays due over the next few days.

“Like, a _study_ session. Sexy study session. _Study_ session which is actually code for sexy times.” The pair of teens hadn’t yet graduated past a bit of over-the-pants friction, but it didn’t stop them—or, rather, Stiles—from talking about the possibilities in their future. “I mean, I could be your tutor, you can come to me claiming to need help with your biology class, and I give you a lesson in _biology_ wink wink. And then you get a bad grade or something, and I have to bend you over my desk and give you a rousing spanking.”

“...Is that something you’re into?”

“Roleplay?”

“I meant the spanking,” Derek said, blushing a violent red underneath his stubble.

Stiles blinked blankly at his boyfriend over the Hales’ dining room table. That was an… interesting reaction from Derek. Did that mean that the other teen was interested in—or straight-up turned on by—the thought of spanking? Stiles hadn’t realized he’d actually asked that question out loud until he saw Derek avert his eyes, breathing a bit heavier.

“Derek?”

“Maybe, yeah,” Derek mumbled.

“Oh. Um, huh. We don’t need to talk about that right now—not with midterms looming. But if you ever want to, like, explore that more? We can totally look into it. I may have no practical experience, obviously, but I’m pretty familiar with the concept of negotiating kink based on the, um, Batman-slash-Joker fanfics I read. We could even watch some porn together to see what we like?”

“Batman-slash-Joker fanfics?”

“Why on Earth would that be the thing you focus on? And not the porn watching?”

“How about we stick to vanilla until we’ve actually done the vanilla? And I would have pegged you as a Batman-slash-Alfred reader.”

“Gross, Alfred’s practically a father to Bruce.”

Derek shrugged. “Can we get back to pre-calc? I actually did want your help with chapter 15.”

“Spoilsport,” Stiles said affectionately.

The boys opened their textbooks and notes, sitting side-by-side. Stiles was almost giddy, pleased that Derek wanted his help with math.

Some of his other classmates underestimated his scholastic abilities, despite him being near the top of his class. And, sure, there were plenty of reasons—his ADHD didn’t just make it difficult to sit still in classes, but also caused him to zone out and go on random tangents at times. His spelling and handwriting were atrocious—thank God for spell check and word-processing software. He had to spend long hours at night, even as his ADHD meds wore off, hunched over his laptop or a textbook to maintain his 4.0 GPA.

“I knew it,” Stiles said. “You’re only using me for my massive brain.” He wiggled his eyebrows at his boyfriend.

“You are one of the smartest people I know,” Derek said seriously. “But you’re also funny, and kind, and cute. How did I get so lucky?”

Stiles blushed, the pink against his pale skin hiding his moles. Even after a month of dating Derek, he still wasn’t comfortable with the other teen’s compliments. “Shut up,” he said, looking down. “I still don’t know why you’re willing to be seen in public with me.”

“Stiles,” Derek said, lifting the other boy’s chin and placing a chaste kiss on his lips. “I’m proud to be seen with you. Heck, I want to shout it from the rooftops, that I’m lucky to be dating the unbelievable Stiles Stilinski. And I want—no, need—you to accept that. You are incredible.”

“Oh.”

“And next weekend, after midterms, we’re going out. You, me, out on the town. I want to show you off.”

“Show what off?” Peter Hale, Derek’s uncle, waltzed into the dining room.

“Show Stiles off,” Derek said. “I didn’t realize you were visiting.”

“Just popping by to raid your mom’s closet. If you want to show Stiles off—which I fully endorse, by the way; he’s delicious—Jungle has an 18+ night next Saturday.”

“Stiles?” Derek asked tentatively.

Stiles’s eyes widened. Jungle, with Derek? Being seen not just in public, but in front of Beacon Hills’s small-but-proud gay community? Granted, Stiles was a decent-looking twink-ish guy, even if he was a bit on the skinny side. But Derek—Derek was an Adonis among men, a literal God.

“Yeah?” he squeaked.

“That sounds great, Peter,” Derek said, standing. “One sec, I’ll be right back.” The darker teen headed to the bathroom, leaving Stiles alone with Peter.

“What was that all about?” the older man asked, taking over Derek’s vacated seat.

Stiles put his head in his hands. “He’s too—I mean, he’s Derek freaking Hale. And I’m just Stiles Stilinski, awkward nerd.”

“Don’t be an idiot,” Peter said disdainfully. “You’re a great kid. And if you don’t trust me when I say so, you should at least trust your boyfriend.”

“Yeah, sure.”

“You know what? Let me help, give you a confidence boost. Tell Derek you’ll meet him at Jungle on Saturday at 9, and you stop by a bit earlier. Let’s say 7. There are some people I’d like to introduce you to. Okay?”

“I guess?”

“Good boy,” Peter purred. “Give me your phone; I’ll put my number in.”

Seconds later, Stiles had a new contact in his phone, for Mandi-with-an-i. After a momentarily blank mind, Stiles remembered—that was Peter’s drag alter-ego. Probably the reason the older man had contacts at Jungle.

“Thanks, Peter,” Stiles said genuinely.

“Thanks for what?” Derek asked, walking back into the room. Peter gave up the seat to his nephew and winked at Stiles.

“Nothing,” Stiles said. “We going to get back to pre-calc?”

Derek nodded, placed a kiss on the tip of Stiles’s nose, and returned to his textbook.

 

* * *

 

Stiles and Peter had exchanged a decent number of texts in the week leading up to Saturday. Obviously not as many as Stiles and Derek had exchanged, but more than Stiles and his father had.

And now, as Stiles was driving to meet Peter at Jungle, he called his boyfriend.

“Hey Der, gorgeous man. We still on for tonight at Jungle?”

“Of course,” Derek said. “What time should I pick you up?”

“Actually,” Stiles said, drawing the word out. He hadn’t told the other teen about his meeting with Peter, at Peter’s request, though he’d been told the secrecy was meant as a good surprise for Derek. “Can you meet me there at 9? I’ve got something going on beforehand. I’ll tell you all about it when we meet up later, okay?”

“Mysterious.”

“I agree. So you’ll meet me there?”

“Sure. But I’ve never actually been to Jungle. What is it like? What am I supposed to wear? I know you’ve been there before.”

“Oh man, are you referring to that time I told you my only sexual experience was me turning down anonymous bathroom BJ offers at Jungle? Can’t say I’m surprised you remembered. Were you jealous?”

“I don’t like thinking about other people hitting on you,” Derek mumbled. “Answer the question.”

“Aw, you feeling possessive, Der? You know you’re the only man for me. Normally, if you were anyone else, I’d get pissed at you treating me like your property but, honestly, it’s kind of hot. I feel the same way about you. But as for what to wear, something tight and black, with comfortable shoes for dancing.”

“Dancing?” Derek asked, startled.

“Dancing,” Stiles repeated with finality. “See you at 9, got to go.” He hung up on his boyfriend as he pulled into the back parking lot at Jungle, bringing the Jeep to a stop next to Peter’s toxic-yellow Porsche.

He’d hoped that talking with Derek would settle his stomach, but Stiles was still nervous. He hadn’t intentionally been vague to Derek on the phone—he himself had been left in the dark. Peter certainly liked being dramatic.

Steeling himself with a deep breath, Stiles reached for the handle of the side door—unlocked, as Peter had said it would be. He looked around the still-closed club; doors didn’t open until 8:30, with the floor show starting at 9. Stiles couldn’t see Peter, so he stepped up to the bartender.

“Do you know where Peter Hale is?” Stiles asked.

“Who?” the burly man asked, giving Stiles a look-over that made the teen flush. “No minors.”

“I’m 18. Peter Hale. Oh! Um, Mandi-with-an-i?”

“Oh, you’re Mandi’s protege. She told me to watch out for you—you’re under the girls’ protection. They’re in the dressing room, through that curtain.”

The man pointed at a deep purple velvet curtain, pulled back to reveal a long, black hallway. Stiles thanked the man and headed down the hall, stopping at an open door, behind which was clearly a dressing room for the club’s performers.

Several chattering women—well, men in drag, really—were gathered around one of the mirrors, getting ready. The most striking woman was applying deep red lipstick, her teeth white against her tanned skin. Black ringlets curled around her lean face, high cheekbones highlighted with copious make-up.

“Um, Mandi?” Stiles asked cautiously at the door.

“Now who is this precious lamb-twink-baby?” a blonde woman—drag queen—asked.

“Girls,” the black-haired woman said. “Meet my nephew’s beautiful boyfriend. Queens, Stiles. Stiles, these are the queens.”

“Your majesties,” Stiles said, nervously bowing.

“He’s adorable,” the redhead commented.

“He will be,” Peter (Mandi) said, smiling wickedly at Stiles, “once we get our hands on him.”

“What?” Stiles squeaked.

“Ooh, makeover montage,” the blonde squealed, clapping her hands together.

“Peter!”

“It’s Mandi-with-an-i right now, baby boy. And I hereby dub you… Stella, for tonight at least.”

“Mandi!”

“Stella!” Peter mimicked back. “What is it, princess?”

“Princess?” Stiles asked.

“Well, you’re a baby queen—or you will be, once we work our magic,” the blonde explained.

“Mandi. How is this supposed to—” Stiles waved his hands around “—help my self-esteem issues?”

“Oh honey, what do you have to be embarrassed or ashamed about? You’re absolutely gorgeous,” the blonde said.

“Adorable,” the redhead said.

“And smart and funny and kind,” Peter said. “We just need to get Stella to realize it. So makeover, getting her on stage, letting her get her own adoring fans.”

“Stage? No—Derek’s going to be here. You can’t—I can’t—”

“You can and you will,” Peter said, brooking no argument. “And if Derek doesn’t love it—well, he’ll love it. And if he doesn’t I’ll eat my favorite lipstick.”

“Not the limited-edition Rouge Ruby,” the redhead said, aghast. Peter nodded solemnly.

“Fine,” Stiles said, sighing. “Do your worst, ladies.”

 

* * *

 

Derek looked at the text again: _C U in 15 min, enjoy show while U wait <3 _

Less-than-three? A quick search on his phone let Derek know that it was a way to write a heart, and he blushed a little. The affectionate symbol made him slightly less cross with Stiles for running late. Derek had arrived at exactly 8:57, ready to meet up with his boyfriend on the crowded dance floor of Jungle which… wasn’t as crowded as Derek had expected.

Then he realized why it wasn’t crowded—people were making a loose arc around a makeshift stage. This must be the show Stiles was talking about.

“Gays, gals, and non-binary pals,” a voice came over the speakers. Derek saw a tall red-haired woman come onto the stage holding a microphone. “Welcome to our Saturday night show. We’ve got a good line-up for you here, so listen, dance, drink—and yes, babies, our bartenders are carding. To start us off, we’ve got the beautiful Miss Mandi and, for her first show ever, Miss Stella. That’s right, folks, she’s a Jungle virgin. So give it up for our favorite Mandi-with-an-i and her barely-legal friend, Stella.”

Clapping, cheering, and wolf whistles filled the room; while Derek had been staring at the stage, the dance floor had filled up to the brim. Mandi strode out onto the platform—that’s right, Derek remembered, Mandi was his uncle Peter’s drag persona. Behind Peter was a nervous looking girl; honey blonde bob styled in soft curls, pink lips standing out in her pale face. Whereas Peter was dressed in a revealing and sparkly low-cut dress, making his masculine body apparent, the girl was dressed slightly more modestly in a retro pink dress. She teetered on her five-inch lucite heels, the angle pushing her ass out and her small chest up.

It was clear to Derek that the only reason Peter was up there was to provide support for the girl, but she quickly built up some confidence at the crowd’s reaction to their act. Peter and the girl were lip-syncing to the theme song from Dirty Dancing, with Peter covering the man’s part. Both were dancing, smiling. Neither were very good dancers. At the end of the song, Peter spun the girl around and dipped her low before straightening up so they could both bow.

Not even thirty seconds had passed since Peter and the girl had left the stage—the next act was still being announced—when Derek felt a tug on his sleeve.

“Hey there, handsome, want to dance?” the girl from the stage—Stella—asked. Her voice was huskier than Derek would have expected, and her face was partially concealed by the dark lighting in the club.

“Um, not really?” Derek said.

“What? Why…”

“You’re cute and all, but I’m gay. I mean, this is a gay bar, after all.”

“Oh my God, are you serious?” The girl’s eyes widened and a mirthful smirk ran across her face. “You do realize this is a drag show, right? As in, men. Dressed as women.”

“Oh, um, yeah,” Derek said, blushing. “I totally knew that.”

“So… you, me, dancing?”

“I’m actually kind of waiting for someone. My boyfriend. And I don’t know if it’s just that we’re still in the honeymoon stage or something, but I’m pretty sure he’s it for me.”

“That’s… God, Derek,” the other boy choked. “That’s amazing. You really don’t recognize me, big boy?”

“I—” Derek racked his brain. Clearly the boy knew his name, but there was something familiar… that nickname, big boy. Oh God. “Stiles?” he squeaked.

Stella—no, Stiles—laughed. “I suppose that should be a major compliment to Peter’s makeup skills.” He pulled Derek away from the crowd, smiling as people congratulated him on a good performance. They found themselves plastered against a back wall where it was quiet enough to have a conversation.

“I guess this was your mysterious surprise?” Derek chuckled.

“Yeah. Peter thought it would help with my self-confidence.”

“Did it work?”

“I think so?” Stiles was silent for a minute, watching Derek’s face closely. “Did you mean it?”

“Mean what?”

“That I’m it for you.”

“Oh, crap. I mean, I know we haven’t—it’s still early, and—”

“Relax, Der. I think maybe you’re kind of it for me too.”

Stiles leaned forward and captured Derek’s mouth, smearing pink lipstick all over his face. Because of the tall heels he was still wearing, the angle was awkward and their noses crashed. Both teens groaned at the pain and pulled back.

“I don’t know how you’re feeling about this get-up, but I seriously need to get out of these heels before I get a blister. And wipe all this caked-on makeup off, and remove these heavy fake eyelashes and this itchy wig, and throw out these tissue-paper boobs, and… ugh. No, you know what? I’m not going to do this ever again,” Stiles said, leading Derek through the curtain to the dressing room. “Maybe drag works for your uncle, but I’m pretty sure Miss Stella was a one-and-done thing.”

“Oh thank God,” Derek said. “I wasn’t going to say anything but it’s really not doing anything for me. But, you know, if you were into it, I’d be supportive, 100%.”

“And that is why you’re the best boyfriend,” Stiles said as he sat down on a plush red velvet couch and unstrapped the lucite heels, letting them fall to the floor.

“Are those pantyhose?”

“Thigh-highs, actually. They, um, match the panties and garter belt? Hey, if I was going to dress up, I was going to give it the full effort. Stiles Stilinski doesn’t half-ass anything.” He stood and turned around so that Derek could unzip the back of his dress.

“Um, Stiles? You definitely do half-ass something,” Derek said, dropping the dress to the ground and staring at the thong Stiles was wearing, which was baring well over half of the teen’s butt.

“Oh, hah, um. Yeah. I guess. Does that—”

“Oh yes, Stiles. That definitely does do something for me.”

Derek tore the wig off of Stiles’s head and grabbed a washcloth, smearing the makeup off of his face. Once it was clean—or clean enough—Derek practically tackled the other boy, pushing him back down onto the couch. Stiles was still only in a thong and thigh highs, Derek fully dressed in tight black jeans and a dark gray henley, but neither made a move to undress the larger teen. In fact, despite the fact that Derek had all but leapt on Stiles, they were exchanging soft, sweet kisses and holding hands, not even grinding against one another.

“Well isn’t this a pretty picture,” Peter said from the doorway, startling the teens.

With a squeak, Derek attempted to fling himself off of Stiles, but couldn’t. Stiles wrapped around the larger boy like an octopus, holding Derek in place so as to shield his own nearly naked body from Peter.

“Heyyyy Mandi,” Stiles ground out. “Not that it’s not lovely to see you—I mean, you’re lovely, so of course it’s lovely to—no, you know what? It’s not lovely to see you. You are a bad, bad man and oh my God why are you still here? Do you want to maybe give me some privacy so I can at least put pants on?”

“Oh come now, Stiles, it’s not as if it’s something I haven’t seen before,” Peter purred.

“Ngh,” Stiles snorted, hiding his reddening face in Derek’s shoulder. “Der, get him out of here.”

“How much has he actually seen?” Derek asked Stiles. Derek wasn’t actually jealous—he trusted his boyfriend completely, and he trusted his uncle most of the time. He thought their friendship would actually be good, for both of their sakes. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to tease Stiles about it.

“Well I’ve seen the thong, but not when it was on,” Peter said.

“Oh man,” Derek laughed. “Did Peter buy those for you?”

“Shut up,” Stiles grumbled into Derek’s neck.

“Fine, fine. I’m leaving. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do—and there’s very little I wouldn’t do. Toodles.” Peter wiggled his fingers in an odd sort of wave and ducked out the door.

“Better?” Derek asked. He ruffled the smaller teen’s hair and placed a soft kiss on the tip of his nose.

“Um, kind of? I mean, I’m not saying you’re heavy or anything, but you’re squishing me. Well, yeah, you are heavy, but it’s all muscle. Big, strong muscle. From sports, playing the sports-ball-game. And you probably lift too, don’t you. And it’s nice, because it’s not like it’s vanity muscles—you’re actually strong. And that’s super hot. And—”

“Are you trying to tell me to get off of you?”

“Yes, but wait a sec. I’m… standing at attention, if you know what I mean? Pulling a full salute to the flag of Derek. My pocket rocket is ready for lift off. Giving you a standing ovation in my pants.”

Derek snorted. “You mean you’re hard.”

“Yup,” Stiles said, popping the p. “And, um, these panties are lacy and kind of see-through. And I’m not sure if I really want you to see them right now.”

“You want me to get up and close my eyes while you change?” Derek pulled his face back a bit and smiled softly at Stiles.

“Please.”

“You got it,” the larger teen said, shutting his eyes tight and rolling off his boyfriend. Standing, he turned around and walked towards the door. “Do you want me to wait for you, or meet you out there?”

“Actually, can you grab me a soda from the bar? Ooh no, a Shirley Temple, extra cherries.”

“Of course.” Derek left the dressing room, shutting its door softly behind him, and headed towards the thumping dance floor.

 

* * *

 

“Let me try this again,” Stiles said from behind Derek, tapping the other teen on his shoulder. “Hey there, handsome, want to dance?”

Derek turned around, smiling. “I’d love to.” He held out the pink drink towards Stiles. It was packed to the brim with maraschino cherries.

“Ooh, gimme.” Stiles grabbed the glass from the larger teen and popped multiple cherries into his mouth. “Ugh, I love you, that’s perfect.”

“...What?”

“I—” Stiles realized what he’d just said. He’d meant to say ‘I love you’ as in ‘thank you, I love that you got this for me,’ right? He shrugged. “Meh. Probably a bit premature, but whatever. Yeah. _Je t’aime_.  _Te amo_. _Ich liebe Dich_. _Kocham Cię_.”

“What language was that last one?”

“Polish,” Stiles said, popping another cherry in his mouth. “My mom’s parents spoke it. Your mom’s family is from Spain, right? You speak Spanish?”

“ _Te ves hermoso esta noche, y estoy loco por ti. Suficiente romance, vamos a bailar._ ” Derek smiled and, tugging Stiles’s drink from his hands, he led his boyfriend out to the dance floor.

“Show-off,” Stiles grinned, wrapping his arms around Derek’s neck. “Spanish is a way sexier language than Polish.”

Derek placed his hands on Stiles’s hips, then brought their pelvises closer together. Stiles was relieved that his erection had mostly gone down. Derek rubbed the smaller teen’s lower back, then slipped his hands under the edge of Stiles’s Batman graphic t-shirt. He held them still on the boy’s back, fingers tracing around the waistband of Stiles’s maroon slacks, waiting for a sign from Stiles that this was okay.

Stiles, of course, was very okay with that. And also extremely pleased that Derek was looking for consent before dancing too dirty. Looking at the packed Jungle dance floor, it’s not as if their dancing was particularly scandalous. In fact, it was fairly PG-13 for the club.

Instead of answering verbally, Stiles pressed closer to Derek and snaked one of his own hands to the taller teen’s lower back.

“ _¿_ _Qué se siente al ser el hombre más guapo en esta sala?_ ” Derek dipped a hand below Stiles’s waistband, over the top swell of his butt, and stopped abruptly. “ _¿Todavía llevas esa tanga?_ ”

“Was that a question?” Stiles asked. “I’m taking honors Latin, and I didn’t have time to fit Spanish in there too.”

“You… still… lacy thong,” Derek squeaked out.

“Yup. You said you liked it, so I figured I’d keep it.”

“ _Vas a ser la muerte de mi_.”

“Is that a good thing?”

“Yeah, I think so.” Derek smiled and leaned in to kiss his boyfriend. The continued to sway to the music, hands on each other but without urgency, falling a little bit more in love with one another, alone in their own world together.

**Author's Note:**

> TRANSLATIONS:
> 
> _Je t’aime._  
>  (French) I love you.
> 
> _Te amo._  
>  (Spanish) I love you.
> 
> _Ich liebe Dich._  
>  (German) I love you.
> 
> _Kocham Cię._  
>  (Polish) I love you.
> 
> _Te ves hermoso esta noche, y estoy loco por ti. Suficiente romance, vamos a bailar._  
>  (Spanish) You look beautiful tonight, and I'm crazy about you. Enough romance, let's dance.
> 
> _¿Qué se siente al ser el hombre más guapo en esta sala?_  
>  (Spanish) How does it feel to be the most handsome man in this room?
> 
> _¿Todavía llevas esa tanga?_  
>  (Spanish) Are you still wearing that thong?
> 
> _Vas a ser la muerte de mi._  
>  (Spanish) You will be the death of me.


End file.
